Where Do We Go From Here?
by VeRo FaLsO
Summary: Sands stays in Mexico after the coup. He abandoned the CIA and is now in a different business. It’s been a year since and he’s finally found El. first Chapter- some mm in later chapters.
1. Default Chapter

Where do we go from here?

Chapter 1

Sands stays in Mexico after the coup. He abandoned the CIA and is now in a different business. It's been a year since and he's finally found El.

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"I am now the biggest dealer in, shall we say, _illegal_ substances in all of Mexico, and the biggest importer into the U.S."

"You did all this in one year?" asked El, who had just arrived and was already suprised.

"No, I built my empire in ten months. The last two months of the year I've spent looking for you, fucker." Sands may have lost his sight but his "eloquent" language never failed.

"What happened to all that talk of balance? Aren't there too many of the bad now that you're the king of cocaine?"

"Well, you never killed el Presidente and after I had that bastard who took my eyes taken care of, along with his little slut daughter, there was a great need for something really terrible to even things out. And, it's not just coke, buddy."

"Then what, exactly, do you need me for?"

"In case you haven't noticed, my dear El, I am blind…"

"So?"

"So, I need some one to shoot for me."

"From what I have heard, you can shoot quite well for yourself." El noticed.

"That's only if I can get my opponent to, let's say, laugh, or talk to me, or scream. Unfortunately most of my enemies have gotten too smart to speak anymore. Are you done asking questions?"

"No. Why did you stay in Mexico?"

"The CIA doesn't want an agent who can't see"

There was a silence which seemed to shock El. He'd never been in a situation where El hadn't come up with some quick, rude little comment. He took the opportunity to look over Sands. After all he couldn't see what he was doing. El couldn't help eyeing the man. He dressed the same, wore the same shades, talked the same as he did a year ago. Only, he was a different man.

"Are you going to answer me? I know you're still here. I didn't hear you walk away."

"What if I refuse to help you?" the guitar player asked.

"Then my men will _try_ to kill you, which you know they can't because you'll always be the better shooter. So… I guess I'll try to find that little mariachi friend of yours. Not the one who drinks, I want the whore one."

"His name is Lorenzo. And you're right, he _is_ a whore."

"So he'll do it?" The former agent asked.

"Yes, but you will not need him."

"Does that mean you'll help me?"

El got up and began to walk away. Sands would find him when he needed him.

"You really should try my chicken!" mentioned Sands before El was out of hearing range.

"What happened to pork?" he asked.

"Shooting chefs over chicken is just so much more gratifying."

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A/N: hope you guys liked the first chapter! R&R!!


	2. cahpter 2

Chapter 2

El woke up – it was two o'clock in the morning. He wasn't sure of what, but he was afraid. He hated that feeling. El was in Sands' home. It was a strange place, probably only temporary. All the walls were bare, but his beds, and seats, and everything else were so extravagant. There was nothing in the kitchen, or at least the room which should have been the kitchen. There was no television. Only one stereo… but the music El could hear right now was not coming from the radio.

What he was listening to was a lone guitar, and the music was coming from the balcony. It was Sands. He was playing with a delicacy that he'd never shown before.

"Who's there?" he asked, placing the guitar against the stone wall.

"El" The mariachi responded.

"Oh…" answered Sands, "Are you naked?"

"No!" He was a little bit shocked at the question, "Why do you ask that?"

"I couldn't here your chains moving."

"Fine, I'm naked." He slept in the nude, but he was surprised that Sands caught that.

"You always seemed the type." The ex-Agent added.

"What type?"

"The type of fuck-mook to sneak up on a blind man with no clothes on." Sands laughed.

El wondered what 'fuck-mook' meant, but then he remembered why he'd wandered over here, "Since when do you play?" he asked.

"Since there's nothing else to do in this shit-hole."

There came the silence again. El looked Sands over; he was shirtless and wearing the same black pants he'd worn all day.

"Have you been up all night?" the American asked.

"No, only a few minutes." He answered.

"Did I wake you?"

"No." Yet another surprise, "Since when are you so considerate?"

"Since the nurses at the hospital wouldn't do jack-shit unless I said 'please'. They got all offended when I told them to fuck off."

That was when El noticed Sands' sunglasses. Did he ever take them off?

"You still there?" asked Sands, and even though he was standing four feet away El didn't answer.

He wasn't sure if Sands knew that he was still there but he picked up his guitar and began to play again. After a minute or two he actually began to sing. In Spanish. This was the strangest thing yet, Sands' accent was almost flawless.

"Que bienes a buscar?

No quiero ablar con tigo.

Porque no te vas?

Porque no te vas, por el mismo camino?..."

He trailed off and stopped playing.

"You're still there, aren't you, El?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I wanted to hear you play and I knew you would not if you thought I was still here."

"If it weren't for you I wouldn't be sitting here, even able to play at all. I feel like I get shot at, at least, 3 times a day. I would've if you had asked.

"No, you wouldn't have."

"I know." He laughed again and just played.

A/N: R&R!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"What will happen if the CIA comes after you?" El asked after a quick shooting. He and Sands were having lunch.

"They won't. I haven't done anything in the U.S. or to offend the agency so they can't do anything unless Mexico asks them to." The ex-agent replied, "Why?"

"Just wanted to know. I wasn't sure if you would want to me to shoot at one of their men in case they _did_ come after you."

"They make for me, you shoot. It's quite a simple arrangement, El. Do you need me to break it down any further?" Sands asked in his usual snotty demeanor.

In reality, the CIA _was_ going to come after Sands. He knew it and, now, so did El. They always came after Agents-Gone-Bad. As soon as they found out that former-Agent Sheldon Jeffery Sands had become Captain of the Bad-Guy squad they'd send some people down to try and take him home.

"Why don't you trust me yet?" the Mariachi asked.

"Now, who would say that? I trust you—unless you know otherwise…"

"Well, I know that your right arm is made of the plastic and that you are pointing a gun at me from under the table."

"What gave me away, ol' pal of mine?"

"Nothing. I happened to notice that you play guitar with your right hand and that you eat with your left. I simply assumed that you do not trust me."

"wow…"

Both men got up. Sands walked into the kitchen,—cane less, of course—El heard the expected "Bang! Bang!" and they both strolled out of the restaurant.

"Where did the gun go?"

"It's in my front pocket, mommy. Why don't you reach down and give it a few tugs?" ah…quintessential Sands.

As funny it sounded, El was quite tempted to do exactly that; give it a few tugs. To tell the truth, El had wanted to do similar things since he'd first met (ex)Agent Sands. Now, when he watched him and he knew he couldn't be watched back, it made Sands all the more… more—

"We're here."

"What?"

"I counted the steps. We're here." Sands repeated.

"Oh…sorry." El unlocked the door to the small building.

_Sorry?_ Very rarely did El apologize, and not remembering about the door wasn't one of those things that filled him with regret. Actually, Sands was realizing more and more how uncomfortable he made El; the periodic silences were just one factor on the list you learn as a CIA agent.

That night El woke up to Sands' playing. It was a sweet, slow melody. As El followed the sound it began to speed up. Then, at the moment he stepped onto the balcony, at the moment of the song's climax, it stopped…

"You naked again?"

no answer

"I know you're there, El."

Again, no answer.

"I'm not going to play until you say something." Sands insisted.

"Yes."

"Yes- what?" he asked.

"Yes, I am naked." El couldn't figure out why he was so shy around Sands.

Then the slow melody came back and Sands sang:

"…estoy aquí,

Una ve más,

Sabes,

Que te quiero hacer feliz,

Te quiero hacer feliz…"

" 'Te quiero hacer feliz'?" Questioned El.

"I want to make you happy." Sands translated.

"I know what it means… I wasn't sure you knew what it meant. Where did you learn that song?"  
"Fucking your nice, whore friend; Lorenzo."

"Oh, is that true?"

"No, I learned it while fucking yo' mama."

"Necrophiliac."

"Oh, don't be that way! It was quite pleasant."

This time the silence was expected.

Sands broke it, "So, why don't _you_ trust _me_?"

"Because you slept with my dead mother."

A/N: R&R!!!


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